


Shotgun

by countingletters



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, HANSOL DRIVING A ROLLS ROYCE LISTEN, listen to george ezras shotgun just do it, soft verny is soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-29
Updated: 2018-05-29
Packaged: 2019-05-15 10:26:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14788769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/countingletters/pseuds/countingletters
Summary: Vernon takes you for a ride underneath the hot sun.





	Shotgun

You don't know how the wind can possibly take all your worries away, but it does just that.

 

It's been a long week. Each night at work felt like a stretch you didn't think would end until the clock finally struck twelve, bringing you the comforting promise of another morning. And as the weekend comes, so does Vernon. He pulls up in front of your apartment and beckons you to get in. The destination is unspoken, as it always is, but the smile you wear as you step inside is one that steals all the words Vernon _does_ have to say. He fumbles for his thoughts as he tries to play it cool, but the best he can manage at that moment is a grin that greets you good morning. You take it, giving a kiss on the cheek in return and a soft "Good morning to you, too." He chuckles, not being able to play it cool any longer, and finally finds the right words to start the day: "Good morning to _me_ indeed."

 

You roll your eyes at this, but it earns him another kiss before the great unknown of today's adventure officially begins.

 

"Well?" His voice pulls you from the song playing on the radio.

 

"Hmm?"

 

"Penny for your thoughts?"

 

You laugh. How perceptive. "You're gonna need more than a penny to get through."

 

"I might have a few dollars to spare." There's a smile on his face when he says this. You don't even have to look.

 

"Well..."

 

"Yeah?"

 

"Just stress, mostly. Lots of stuff going on during the weekdays, then not enough time to spend during the weekend." A sigh escapes your lips. "Wish it was the other way around, you know? Less work, more you."

 

He turns the car towards the highway where the beginning of a long road stretches before you. "Just you," he says. It comes out as a whisper, but you hear it anyway. Another smile threatens to appear on your lips but you hold it, wanting to hear it again.

 

"What?"

 

"Just you," he repeats. "No work, just you."

 

You shake your head, your smile betraying you completely. "We won't have any dollars left."

 

"Then you'll have to tell me your thoughts for free."

 

"I'm too expensive for that." You cross your arms and mock a pout, making him laugh.

 

"Capitalist."

 

"I call it being a _true_ entrepreneur."

 

"Says the one who blows all her cash on food."

 

"I-"

 

" _And_ beverages."

 

"The _future_ of the business world has to survive."

 

"By eating for two?"

 

"Shut up, you eat for three."

 

He hums, nodding. "Point taken."

 

You pretend to fix your invisible tie, dusting off your shoulder before putting a finger gun below your chin. "The wolf on wall street rests her case." Laughter ensues as the intro of your current favorite song plays. He turns the volume up, already singing along.

 

As the car picks up speed, you close your eyes and feel the change in the atmosphere. You can imagine the yellows and greens spread and expand from both your sides, the whites among the big, big blue scattering all around. You let it play in your head, like a montage of the same mix of colors over and over again. Your fingers rise up to reach the sky as the picture you've painted unfolds and materializes when you open your eyes. This is where art finds form in reality. This is where you find home.

 

"I could get used to this."

 

"You should." It's soft, the way he says it. Like he's taking good care of his words, like he always does with you. "Get used to this, with me."

 

You put your hand on the space just above his knee, giving it a squeeze as you say, "Just you."

 

You look at Vernon, whose eyes are on the road and whose lips are split into the most endearing grin you've ever seen and will ever see in your life. You can't help following suit, thinking perhaps your form of healing is neither the wind blowing against your face nor the adrenaline the car's speed brings. It's the one who tells you it's okay to break free like the wind, and give in to the rush of adrenaline inside you.

 

It's him.

 

So as the convertible zips through the horizon and into some place only the two of you will know, you smile and let Vernon take you away. Away, and away.


End file.
